


16 Ways to Say Red

by Coffeebreakcreations



Series: Abstractionverse [6]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Arsenal FC, Football, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffeebreakcreations/pseuds/Coffeebreakcreations
Summary: Collection of one shots, drabbles and further world building of my Abstractionverse. Life, journey and struggles of Abstractors in Arsenal FCNew Chapter !Chapter 2: [Past, Mikel Arteta/Robin van Persie] The Stillness ft. Granit Xhaka
Relationships: Mikel Arteta/Robin van Persie
Series: Abstractionverse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751947
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. The Captains of Europe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @colorsofmyseason's own superpowers au ft. arsenal FC and since she's also brought me to love Arsenal as well, I've decided to developed their role in the bigger picture of my own superpowers AU.
> 
> First of, quick introduction.  
> \- An Abstraction is an in universe term for their super powers. Only an extremely small percentage of the population are born with it.  
> \- An "Order" is a country's governing body that manages and protects these people. All Orders answer to the Grand Order.  
> \- The Abstractor society has integrated themselves into the sport of football as a cover for the real world. Clubs are a way to identify, manage and train the powers of young Abstractors together with Non-abstractors who aim to be football players.
> 
> More background info at end notes.

Despite the searing heat that is desecrating London, Lucas managed to get himself covered in snow in which he, together with Bernd, is urgently brushing away before Mikel, Granit or any non-abstractor would notice.

Their endless bickering over irresponsible use of Lucas’ powers is almost ambient at this point to the rest of the Abstractors of Arsenal FC. Normally, Hector would butt in and have them locked up with whatever metal scraps he could tap into with his mind but his exhaustion makes him rather not to.

Another option would be asking Kieran to summon any useful metal work just to keep those two apart but he knows the Scotsman is busy trying to perfect smithing a crossbow he can use for ranged combat. Not that he’d actually need one. What is he going to do? Pretend to be a vigilante hero of London?

Dani is with them, meditating, trying to tap into the energy of the moon. At this time of the day and of the month his power is at its lowest peak. Sometimes he’d get jealous of the consistency of his fellow abstractor’s power being independent of the moon’s properties for power. However, he feels nothing but absolute pride whenever he gets to show off the tricks he can do when he is at its peak.

One could say that inconsistency is very much a prime feature of Dani.

“Have you ever wondered why there are so many captains stationed in the Premier League?"

Hector jolted up and looked around before giving Kieran a mean look, signalling him to watch his mouth. He knows that the Scotsman didn't ask that question in the context of football. Kieran meanwhile reran that question in his mind, dissecting it for any compromising wording.

The thing is, while many of Arsenal's players are abstractors they were always advised to watch what they say out loud. Specially since this club has always been on the watch list of the Grand Order.

None of them knows what it actually means to be in this watch list but Auba, Granit and even Mikel turn dead serious when discussing this topic. Which all in all adds more intrigue to it.

But now that the question is asked. Kieran observed as the rest of their kind in the squad each made faces of realization.

It seemed that this is the first time this has occured to any of them. 

“Perhaps this league just happens to attract the best players, what about it?”

Even Auba who himself is a captain of Gabon doesn't really see anything odd about this at all. The fact that they've accepted that so many of the world's most powerful and influential figures are in England was just so normalized to them was really mind boggling to Kieran.

“No, but like, isn’t the placing of specific players sometimes coordinated by the Grand Order?” Kieran replied. 

This time most of the crowd have leaned in to listen to their discussion. Even Bernd chimed in followed by Lucas who thankfully had stopped arguing and focused their efforts instead to regulate the Uruguayan’s core after a failed casting of a weather spell. Apparently Lucas wrongly casted one that is powerful enough to cool down the entire peninsula with half of his core's energy. It took the other half just to dispel it.

Even Mesut who at most times is indifferent to the silly affairs Kieran and his peers at the squad get to are into the gossip as well.

What else is one to do just to take his mind off the heatwave that's ravaging the entire country.

“And you think captains of so many orders stationed in england is strategic?” Auba said, in which Kieran nodded vigorously at the question.

“How about you Auba, is there any particular reason why you were stationed here?”

“None at all. I came here for purely professional reasons." Auba paused. He looked past the gathered crowd and spotted Granit Xhaka walking towards them. With the rest looking at him funny as well the clueless Swiss raised an eyebrow with a little hint of slight irritation.

They all looked away awkwardly. 

"Perfect," he said, half relieved at getting answers from an actual captain that might know a thing or two and half on stepping off the hot seat. "He ought to have more answers. He should be more informed in the affairs of Orders in Europe.”

“Right," Lucas said. "I always forget that Granit is also a Captain.”

“Wow," Granit replied, making the Uruguayan yelp in surprise. "I take great offense in that Lucas. But anyway, what mischief are all of you getting into this time around."

All of them looked at Kieran making the poor Scotsman turn red and panicky.

"Well, I —  _ we  _ were just wondering if there was any particular reason why there's a tonne of Captains stationed in England."

"And he's asking not in the football context," Hector added just so to drive the point further in.

Granit frowned. He took a step back and looked around for any non-abstractors in the vicinity. He crossed his arms and looked at Kieran with a sour grimace, hesitating. Hector took note of how sudden his demeanour went from casual to cold.

"You know something, don't you?" Hector pressed.

"Or not, maybe he's just as clueless as all of us," Lucas teased, shrugging, a comment that earned a sharp "Shut up Lucas" from Bernd.

“Mikel had asked me not to discuss this but I suppose the truth would explain why he is so strict.” The Swiss captain rubbed his forehead and gave out a defeated sigh. "Is Rob and Cal with us?”

Lucas' eyes immediately lit up, an eye symbol then appeared on his forehead. They all patiently waited for what the Uruguayan is up to. Finally, he returned to normal with a disgusted shudder.

"What was that?" Bernd asked.

"Well, let's just say those two won't be joining us anytime soon."

"How did you know? Did you just communicate with them?"

Lucas looked at Bernd with a tired look in his eyes, almost begging to not ask him further.

"Listen I just know, ok." He pointed at Granit, "Coast is clear, please, spill."

"This is sensitive information, but I think it's within my best judgement to divulge it since all of us here at Arsenal are also affected. All I ask is, none of you would rat me out. Is that understood?"

All of them nodded. However, Granit doesn't seem to be satisfied with the answer. Although he is giving Lucas a piercing glare that the Uruguayan seems to be unaware of. Hector had to lightly elbow him.

"Yes, yes I will not speak of any of this at all, geez."

"Good, you better keep it that way." Granit said, finally satisfied.

Granit cupped his hands and slowly pulled it apart. Between it is a pulsing black cloud, swirling around. To some it looked like smoke, to some it looked like blank ink suspended in mid air. It gave off a thick muffled gargle, as if the sound of lightning being extremely slowed down. With one huff the swiss captain pressed the sphere between his palms making a ring of the same substance radiate out of him disappearing after it reached a far distance.

"What was that?" Dani asked, almost mesmerized by what the captain did.

"My abstraction, Rorschach."

"What does it do?"

"It should heighten my senses just in case someone walks in. If it's a threat then it should place it under an illusion."

Mesut huffed under his breath. There's the captain they've all been waiting to see. Paranoid and cautious. It's exactly how Fips and Manu would've acted. No, scratch that, neither of them would even bother divulging information as sensitive like this in the first place.

For him, there's no need to activate his Rorschach, it's not like someone walking in would immediately suspect them of gossiping about the affairs of the grand order.

Then again, if Granit is willing to walk that extra ridiculous mile just to make sure of it then it must be serious.

Looking around, it became evident for Mesut that not many of them had seen their captain's abstraction before. Well, like Mesut, Granit is not one for the silly games the younger ones get into. He has the Swiss Order to carry on his back so he can't simply use his abstraction on a whim.

Something that the rest of the squad should aspire to, Mesut thinks.

"Everything has to do with the former captain of the English Order," Granit started.

“There are times where captains of a national team and its order are different. That was the case with the former captain of the english order.

“Before Kane took the post the Pendragon were up to no good. The former captain set up a shadow militia using its resources and power.

“Its purpose? Invade the French Order and control France with a puppet government.

“When it was uncovered, none of the conspirators were brought to justice and their tracks vanished.

“The Grand Order found it to be too suspicious so it placed sanctions on the Pendragon. In which Harry Kane had to suffer under now. All his actions are being monitored. Most of their activities, frozen.

“That’s why Kane and Lloris are together in Tottenham. For surveillance reasons and also for working together in bringing more light in the remains of the militia.”

Granit stepped back and swallowed. There it is, the truth is finally out and the noisy chatter of the group earlier turned 180. One would think the barrage of questions would start now but no one really expected it to be that serious.

Except, everyone expected it to be serious. That's why they are all intrigued by it but hearing the actual reason why many of Europe's captains are gathered in England is just shocking to all.

Mesut and Sokratis looked at each other, their faces much more grim and serious than usual. Aside from Auba and Granit being captains, it's them who were also most involved with their country's orders. They would know a sensitive affair when they see one and this is as critical as it gets.

Lucas and Kieran who usually are either aloof or panicky at anything odd are appearing completely somber about the gravity of these revelations. So much so that it shocked both Bernd, Dani and Hector who usually deal with the nuisance that the two gets into.

"I trust that finally, all of you would understand why I am strict with any unauthorized use of abstractions. Any anomalous activity and the Grand Order will be upon us with an iron fist. Their wrath is something I wouldn't wish even for my worst enemies."

“I didn’t realize that all these are happening under our noses. What became of the former captain?” Dani asked.

“No one really knows. The official report handed to us said that he was killed." He said, pinching his chin, his voice low and hesitant. "Personally, I believe that either he is in hiding or within the custody of the Grand Order. You can’t simply be killed off or disappear with that amount of influence and power.”

“But isn’t unwise for Hugo Lloris to be absent. France? What if the former captain resurfaces."

“While I do agree with you, I think it’s also unwise to count Lloris out like that. The Azure Keep is still and has always been one of the strongest forces in europe."

Granit raised his right arm and swirled it around in a clockwise motion. Clouds of black puffed from the trail of his fingertips. It collected into the center forming the image of Hugo Lloris.

It showed him in combat masterfully wielding his Octave, a sound based abstraction. It shows sound waves emanating from his palm. He uses it to push enemies away, create a sound barrier around himself, propel and levitate himself.

His movements were graceful and calculated, seamless in his transition between defensive and offensive form. It's almost as if he is dancing rather than fighting.

"Lloris may look tame and unassuming but rest assured that he’s just as ruthless and cunning as all other captains." Granit said as his Rorschach displayed Lloris' talents.

The way the Swiss captain praised him was full of respect and admiration, almost as if he idolizes his French counterpart. It must be a wonder to see him in combat.

"I even believe that he’s the strongest among all of us.”

He retracted his abstraction and focused further on the group.

"Unless you are French or English, the only concern you should have in this matter is yourselves. Stop with the stunts, Lucas I am specifically pointing this to you—"

"That's not fair," the Uruguayan protested.

"I am serious," The captain snapped back, a little harder than he intended to. And while Lucas turned red the others were taken aback with how his voice echoed not only anger but also urgency and terror. He feared the Grand Order, that's for sure. And with how he reacted, the others were quick to take note of his warning.

Whatever else Granit Xhaka knows, they don't intend to find out for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More info about their abstractions:  
> Kieran Tierney, "Arsenal" - He has the ability to memorize weapons and metal works that he can craft. In combat, he can use this to summon just about anything he has an experience of.  
> Hector Bellerin, "Metal Sound" - He has the ability to sense metal in his immediate vicinity as well as to control it and wield it with his mind.  
> Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, "Black Panther" - He is able to cover himself with an aura of a black panther which gives him immense stealth, reflexes and agility as well as a cloaking ability.  
> Lucas Torreira, "Arcaneologist" - Arcaneologists are a subset of Abstraction that is able to liberally transform and channel energies around them. This makes almost the majority of them into scholars and academics studying the nature of energy and turning their knowledge into spells.  
> Bernd Leno, "Segment" - He is able to create chains made of light energy, stronger than industrial chain links.  
> Dani Ceballos, "Lumen" - His power comes from the moon and its phases, peaking when its in Full Moon or New Moon phases. His abilities also vary depending on which phase the moon is in.  
> Granit Xhaka, "Rorschach" - His abstraction gives him the ability to enhance an emotion or a temperament of a person using it as an anchor for an hypnotic state.


	2. The Stillness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Past, Mikel Arteta/Robin van Persie]
> 
> Mikel braves a no-visibility rain to visit the Emirates dead in the night desperately looking for peace, craving for the stillness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always a sucker for transfer drama and the telenovela situations that sometimes come with it whether enacted by the people involved or speculated by the fandom via fanfics. I don't know, I just enjoy writing them. Plus, I enjoy writing Mikel and Granit, specially with their abstractions.
> 
> Thanks to @colorsofmyseason for helping me with this chap, and for inspiring me to write about arsenal in general.
> 
> So here goes, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Background infos about their powers at the end notes, AU explanation at first chapter.

Something other than an English team would’ve been nice. Something outside the English Premier League. Away from the same greyed out, damp, rainy streets of England.

It wasn’t even a year after retirement when Mikel decided to work under Manchester City’s coaching team.

There had been other offers of course. Some in Germany, oddly enough. There were a few from Spain. Even now Mikel was still trying hard to recall if FC Barcelona had reached out. The memory must’ve been a result of a delirious episode.

Yet there he was. Manchester City FC. It might be the same country, same feel but surely it's different. Etihad is not the Emirates. The sky blue of Manchester is the complete opposite of the crimson of Arsenal. Three years he worked under Pep Guardiola thinking that he'd truly opened a new chapter.

He was dead certain that he finally made up his mind and walked out of Arsenal for good. Mikel doesn’t hate the club, with all honesty he is eternally grateful to it. However, sometimes when there are wounds too deep, too painful and too sore to heal, perhaps walking away is the best decision. Especially if the source of that wound is the club itself.

So why, then, is Mikel Arteta back in the Emirates Stadium. Under the same old club, bearing the same old crest. Not as a player, but as the head coach. Still, highly involved nonetheless.

No, literally, why?

It's dead at night. The stadium is closed. To say that it's a depressing sight to see its lights down is an understatement. And even if it's had all its lights on there's barely any visibility with this amount of heavy rain going on.

Yes, Mikel Arteta, for some reason, decided to pay the stadium a visit in a no-visibility rain on a stormy night.

It's a sketchy business to anyone who would spot him. Thankfully there's barely any person out to take the intrigue of a hooded man drenched in rain.

His legs were sore from walking all the way here. He'd take his car but it would be more likely to send him into an accident. He's already passed by a few of them.

For Mikel, with this rain, there's no need for cars. Nor roads, really. Why would he be so pedestrian when walking on air is a better option.

The thing is, Mikel's abstraction allows him to do that. One of the many quirks when you can control water with your mind.

He looked over the towering infrastructure, browsing through the many options he had in mind to scale it. The selections range from slow and safe to fast and stupid. Perhaps fast and stupid might be a way to go. Might as well, he's already been on so much nonsense at this point anyway.

So he raised his hand, rain water collected beneath his legs raising him, sliding him a few distance away from the base of the stadium. Should he catapult himself up it should be from a diagonal angle. He just can't trust his control enough for a perpendicular maneuver.

A pillar of water collected at his legs, a puddle beneath it oscillating as he aimed himself in a forty five degree angle. He raised both of his arms sidewards, the waves grew even more turbulent as he applied tension onto it. Finally with one rapid downward swing he jettisoned himself into the air, a trail of water zooming after him. The water column crashing into hard concrete.

He spun himself as he reached higher altitude, creating a water vortex to protect himself from the bullet-like downpour of rain.

He’s slowing down, the hood of the stadium getting more visible as he scaled the height of the entire infrastructure. 

Mikel has only seen the Emirates in this angle with drone shots and sometimes with a helicopter ride. But in actual freefall? Granted it's not as grand and sunny but the view is still extraordinary.

When he started to descend he turned and aimed his legs to the ground. Once again he spun, collecting water around his body aiding him with the speed of the spinning motion. This helped him collect even more water around him building a drill like structure around his legs.

Water started to ripple from the ground as well. It shot up in a giant twister connecting with Mikel. The water column slowed down his descent landing him gently on the ground.

Loud. That was the first thing Mikel thought as he fixed himself up. The rain is too loud. Water banging on the metallic frame of the hood cover of the stadium. Overflowing into funnels crashing into hard concrete. Hail of bullets piercing through grass echoing on the hollowed crevices of the deserted stadium. Everything is too loud.

Just as loud as it was in today’s game.

Boots pushing into dirt. Curses from different languages yelled with different dialects. Instructions and directives delivered. Arguments exchanged. The loud impact of rubber. Pained groans and jubilant cheers. All of it was too loud.

The rapid beating of Mikel's chest. The high pitched ringing in his ears. His advisors frantically bring in input and analysis of mistakes. The voices in his head telling him he isn't good enough. The silent emptiness of loss. Unbearably loud.

Now he remembered why he went all the way here.

For the first time he felt the weight of his body. Clothes soaked in rain anchoring him to the ground. The tiniest of movements demanding more effort from his already exhausted body. Damp and messy hair, with water dripping, running into the contours of his face.

He squeezed his hand into a fist. Mikel screamed his lungs out, anger and frustration resonating within it as it fought with the ambience for dominance.

The rain stopped around him. Water was suspended in mid air forming into tiny beads. Soon enough the loudness went still as well that even the muffled sound from outside wasn't audible for Mikel.

The stillness. The silence of nothingness that he so craved. Back at his home not only is he troubled with the cacophony of blame and regrets for today's loss but the skies had to join in and make a chorus of insanity. Only here at the stadium that he can practice dominion over nature at peace.

"Listen to the stillness," Mikel whispered.

The same stillness that he looks for as he ran past opposition trying to obstruct his advances against their defense. The same stillness that tells him when to strike. The same stillness that alerts him where to send and receive a pass.

The clarity of the moment. That one split second where everything feels right. A boost of confidence and a burst of resolve and determination drowning out doubt and worry.

The same stillness that he sees when he and Robin connect in the field.

"Listen to the stillness of your environment. Water is all around you," a distant memory of Robin said as he waved his hand. A misty trail followed it as he swirled his index finger.

Robin has always been the gifted one between the two of them. Both in football and in abstraction. The saying was like a mantra for the Dutchman that Mikel never got rest from hearing.

"Listen close enough and soon you will find yourself connected to your element. Rid yourself of doubt, release the worry in your mind. Let your energy flow like water."

Mikel closed his eyes. With one deep breath he let himself connect to water that surrounded him. His arms trembled as he fought to remain in control of his abstraction.

He's long conceded that he will never be as good as Robin. His senses were never as keen as his was.

He's always found open spaces to where Mikel can only see obstruction. Clarity when Mikel can only find chaos. A clear choice to where Mikel can only see indecisiveness. 

And perhaps this talent was the key for the Dutchman being an influential figure in both club and county. The secret for how he carried their squad for an entire season. The reason why he was made desirable, sorely sought after by rivals.

Perhaps he had listened to the club back then as well. Perhaps too deep that he'd found nothing but stillness. And he took that chance and moved with it to Manchester.

And then it all came back to Mikel. A fight. A memory as icy as Robin's grip to his shattered heart. Eyes so cold, darkened and uncaring as he turned his back against him. A laugh hauntingly piercing, colder than the Frostbite he named his own power after.

His voice, hallowed and dreadful as it dragged through words. Misty breaths colder than a blizzard blowing at his neck. "Have you ever wondered why they call me the Devil of Winter?"

Mikel shook himself back to reality. It was only when he came back to his senses that he realized what he created. 

Rings of water revolved around him expanding and then contracting at random intervals. Pillars swaying, connecting into arches before disconnecting. Intricate geometry forming and then collapsing. Patterns folding into each other almost creating an otherworldly tune with each ripple, each rapture, each current that twisted and turned to each other.

Mikel could feel his energy pulsing through every water sculptures he unknowingly created. If he wasn’t filled with strife he would’ve been impressed by what he’s done.

All of it brought nothing but terror to Mikel.

Panic started to set in. He could feel his grip deteriorate, shapes losing their form, ripples becoming bigger, more irregular. Pillars collapsing, flooding the arena.

“Coach?” A voice crept behind him.

With feeble steps, Mikel slowly turned. 

"Granit,” Mikel whispered, his voice trembled in shame. And it was the shock of the moment that he lowered his hand in an attempt to let go of his control of all the water around him. To hide this magnificent labyrinth he accidentally created.

"Don't,” Granit said, his hand extended to Mikel gesturing him to stand down. “You'll be dropping metric tonnes of rain water onto the stadium and its near vicinity. Look up."

Mikel followed him, and indeed he looked up. Not only had he manipulated water around him, but all around the stadium as well. He didn’t know his control expanded that far. He’d created a dome all around the Emirates, a thick layer of rain water had collected. If he is to let go of control, he will crush the entire stadium.

"I didn't know,” Mikel said. “I wasn’t always adept in controlling my abstraction.”

“Control. Always the burden of us Abstractors.” Granit said, as he clapped his hands together. 

“Don’t you worry. I’ll walk you through it.”

Black ink puffed out of his hands. It formed into rings that revolved around his fingers. He released his hands, swirling the black substance with his right arm in a slow clockwise motion.

"Why are you here?"

"I had my Rorschach activated during the game earlier. It isn't on right now but whatever remained of it was strong enough to sense you and your abstraction's presence. I thought you were under attack."

He pointed his fingers at his coach, the ink followed its path, gently shooting out to his direction. When it reached him, Mikel flinched, almost staggering backwards. He turned his body away from it as far his legs would allow him without his abstraction slipping.

Granit was surprised to see Mikel this shaken. He’s never seen him like this before. Not even when the pressure of a match is rising. Not even when it seems like the odds are stacked against them. Not even when they are to face defeat.

Mikel has proven himself to be a figure of fortitude to the squad. Whenever something seems bleak it was Mikel who was a beacon of hope. He was a pillar of resilience that they are sure to echo assurance and affirmation back at them.

Witnessing him like this. It troubles Granit.

“May I?” He asked softly. “I will not put you into any illusion. I’ll just try to calm you down. Is that alright?”

Mikel, still trembling, nodded.

“This will just go around you, nothing more.”

Still, Mikel looked at the cloudlike ink blots swirling around him with deep suspicions. It’s as if it will strike at anypoint and burrow his fangs into his skin. He stood frozen as Granit’s Rorschach settled above Mikel.

“Say something, Granit. Anything.”

“I … I don’t know what to say.” Granit fumbled in his words, not really knowing what exactly is it that Mikel wanted. What he feared most of all is adding onto the stress he is under. And he knows Mikel is under a lot of the moment as he’s already struggling with control and the anxiety of being under his Rorschach.

“Anything off your mind, just give me another voice to listen to.”

With a click in his mind, he activated his abstraction. If Granit was to be honest, he wasn't even aware that his abstraction can have a calming property. He knows he can subdue someone with an illusion, but that would still be harmful as it would require for him to inject himself in their mind like a parasite.

Even if It’s for the right reasons his subjugation ability is not always a pleasant experience.

But Bernd Leno assessed his Rorschach, and he doesn’t know what the German ‘keeper saw in his abstraction but he would trust the apprentice of a Celestial. Especially if that Celestial is Klose himself, whose entire thing is studying how people’s cores work.

So here he is now, careful not to inject himself into the mind of Mikel. Careful not to peek into the troubles of his coach. Bernd had told him, if he would focus on applying his Rorschach into the mind of a person without accessing their memory it would still give a weak form core regulation.

It’s going to be weak that’s for sure, but it’s surgically precise. And that’s exactly what Mikel needs right now.

“The main struggles of us Illusion types are resisting the urge to use our own abstractions on ourselves.”

Granit gulped. This is the first thing that popped in his head. He isn’t sure how this would be of any help to Mikel but it’s out now. There’s no other choice but to commit to it.

“The world is a harsh place. There’s so much pain, so much grief, so much suffering to go around.

“Throughout history it's always the Illusion types that get to be the villain. Usurped thrones, overthrown governments, cults, manipulations, betrayal. The classics.

“There has never been an inept illusioner. All of us are the same, just as powerful, just as dangerous.

"However, the difference between me and the others that you don’t see is I’m here lucid and sober and the other guy has already folded his own brain on himself. Those that put themselves on a perpetual fantasy dreamland. Wouldn’t blame them. Anyone would when you have the power to do so.

"At least when other people come to me and ask that they be put under I can always say no. But for me, that one experiment, that one small dip into the intrigue. I know it will send me spiraling into seeking that high.

"Abstractors, non-abstractors. Humans do all sort of stupid things just to rid themselves of pain.”

Silence. Granit looked down and watched as his boots burrowed further into the mud. There wasn’t any response from Mikel. For a moment there he was scared that he might’ve disappointed the Spaniard. Perhaps he was looking for another type of story.

He scolded himself. The man was looking for another voice to distract himself from pain, and he goes here lecturing him of the same. Stupid, he told himself.

Granit closed his eyes and tried to feel with his Rorschach. He can still sense that Mikel’s mind isn’t in the best state. However, his core seems to be stable.

The water formations around him were no longer chaotic and pulsating. It has all formed into a solid body again. Pillars remained pillars, arches remained arches and geometric shapes remained geometric shapes. The metric tonne water dome above them? No longer a threat at least.

All that's left now is making sure Mikel’s control is consistent enough for him to slowly shed away the collected rainwater.

"Sorry, I wasn’t sure how that would help,” Granit said in panicked haste. “I’ll think of another one hold on— "

"I was supposed to be in line for the captaincy,” Mikel interrupted. “For the national team and for the spanish order."

Mikel smiled at the Swiss captain as he slowly looked back at him. He feels a little more calm at least, although there’s still that feeling of unease with the black ink swirling behind his head. He knows that Granit wont put him under, especially how he seems to be knowledgeable of its risks.

But still, it’s a fear that he cannot possibly shake off. Not when it was rooted on— 

No. Mikel shook himself back. He’s slipping again. One look at Granit and he can sense that he got worried as well with a slight mixture of shock and concern on the captain's face. 

"I thought,” Mikel murmured as he tried to shake the blurry thought. “I really believed that my Torpedo would've made me a prime candidate.” He said a little louder this time. “I embodied our ethos pretty well. Destruction."

Destruction. It wasn’t always the prettiest of an ethos. It sounded silly even, almost unbecoming of an entire organization. But that’s what they think. For the Spanish Order, destruction is an idea with deeper implications.

"However, Iker has always told me that while Torpedo is a remarkable abstraction I didn't know what the difference is between destruction and disaster."

The Spanish Order proclaimed themselves to be the masters of destruction. It is a mindset, a discipline. Be it with microscopic precision with Thiago Alcantara’s Sand Blast or pure unadulterated destruction like Mikel’s own abstraction. 

"You must know about 2013?"

Granit weakly nodded. The incident was one of the reasons why Arsenal is under the watchlist of the Grand Order. They called it, “A shameless aggrandizement of abstraction that is unbecoming of their secret society.” All that he knew was there was a fight, but the details of it were redacted by the Grand Order’s egotistic secretism.

What he also knows is that Mikel and another former Arsenal player named Robin van Persie was a part of it.

"Yeah well,” Mikel fumbled. “I don't know what San Iker saw in Ramos but, whatever it is he'd rather that than have that incident tarnish the name of his legacy.”

An ache burrowed deep into Mikel’s chest. A cut so deep, so harrowing that it almost makes him laugh in a compulsive, out of control kind of way. And he did, letting out small chilling laughter through his gritted teeth as he looked at Granit with loopy eyes, almost on the verge of tears.

"Did you know that van Dijk appealed his case?” Mikel said. There was a strain in his voice, pained and demanding. He almost expected Granit to answer back with full clarity. Because he could not, for the life of him, imagine why would the Dutch Order do that. “Even Arjen Robben hadn't much of an iron fist in his sentencing."

He glared at the Swiss captain with the same expectant eyes, but the answer he would receive is even more silence. 

"I don't know what pain was Robin trying to escape from,” Mikel said, almost whimpering. He took a deep breath, and what he exhaled was not just simply air, but also a heavy burden he’d been carrying for a while now.

The thing is, no one really knows of this before. Of course there had been the reports, memos given to the captains but none of it ever tells the whole story. None of them knows what Robin did to Mikel. None of them knows the wound that Robin himself carved deep within him. Wounds that no matter how hard he tried, would never heal.

No one. Not even Per who should've been the first person Mikel could go to in things like this. However, Per had become another pain that Mikel could not walk off.

“But I sure as hell didn't deserve what he did to me.” Mikel’s hands curled into a fist and he could feel a shiver emanate all over his body. A pressure building in his abdomen. He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream.

“And he deserves to be forgotten.."

He just wanted all this pain to end.

"Yet, whenever I try to hear the stillness I find myself looking for his voice.” Mikel looked up, his eyelids barely open. For a moment he wondered where it all went wrong. Back then he, Per and Robin was a force to be reckoned with, or at least they were projected to be. They just needed time.

Time. It was all Mikel needed. It was everything he wanted to give, but it was the one thing he had nothing of.

“And whenever I actually find it. I get consumed by this rage."

He muttered it with a conviction he never knew he could muster. It was a statement that had been a truth to him for so long, but for even longer that he tried to deny it. He wanted to hate Robin. He wanted to despise Per.

And for him, he was right to be angry. They abandoned him. But the thing is, he wasn’t really sure why. Or maybe he knows, perhaps he’d truly known all along. That this is a part of his denial, but nothing ever feels so real, so tangible until he’d hear it from Robin himself.

Because he was the origin of all this. The moment he started acting up, Per changed as well. And ever since that fight, nothing was ever the same.

He had been in denial for so long. It was that feeble hope of things returning to what it was that’s keeping him here. He wanted to forget about what had happened, to let go of what is already lost. However, what they had, him, Per and Robin, it was too good to let go.

Granit approached him. “Lately, a threat has been looming over Europe, making the captains convene. Whenever that happens, my voice, The Swiss Order’s voice has always been the unheard one.

“However, back in my country, I am the one who’s there. Not Manuel Neuer, not Hugo Lloris, not Sergio Ramos, not Virgil van Dijk, not Harry Kane. So whenever they try to impose their influence on the course of action, I make my voice heard. I stand my ground.

“Because back in Switzerland, there’s no use in hearing voices of people that were never there.”

Mikel knows that Granit is right. At the end of the day Per and Robin are no longer by his side. God knows what Per is up to nowadays with the Grand Order, and Robin turned his back from Arsenal. It’s his voice that matters from now on.

It’s not easy. That’s for sure. But Mikel needs to own up for his mistakes. He is the one the squad looks up to for guidance and strength now. And for that he needs to be wise and strong for them.

He needs to accept that there are things that he cannot change, and there are things that can change him. For the worse, and for the better.

It’s up for him to know which is which.

“Will you try for me?” Granit said, his voice soft and patient. “Will you try to trust your own voice?”

Mikel closed his eyes and once more opened himself to the stillness in his surroundings. Every drop of water, every particle of steam in the air. Dew, moisture, sweat, tears, the very blood that runs through his veins.

In his mind he was able to visualize all of it. Every arch, every bead, every pillar of water around him. The dome above the stadium, the rain that floods the streets outside. 

Each and everyone of it is connected to Mikel. Living, breathing with him, functioning like a single organism. Mikel has never felt his power act like this before. Whatever this is, it feels free, liberating, painless.

Something that Mikel would cling to for now on.

“Would you look at that,” Granit said, his awe overflowing from his voice.

Mikel opened his eyes to a magnificent shimmer swirling around him. Each little bead of water that dissipated emitting a faint glow. And then there was rain once more, as Mikel slowly returned the dome he’d accidentally collected back to the sky. The danger is gone.

But no matter how powerful Mikel can be, stopping a rain like this will still require a miracle. Granit grabbed his arm, pulling him back to shelter under the covers of the stadium. However, Mikel remained, unmoving.

When Granit looked at him, he found the coach opening himself to the rain. His slightly face up, welcoming each drop to his face.

“Let’s get shelter,” Granit insisted.

“No,” Mikel said, warm tears falling down his face getting washed away along with his grief and hurt for tonight. “The rain is good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background info:  
> Mikel Arteta, "Torpedo" - One of the most destructive water-based abstraction in the world. Mikel is able to visualize the presence of water around him and use it for combat.  
> Granit Xhaka, "Rorschach" - His abstraction gives him the ability to enhance an emotion or a temperament of a person using it as an anchor for an hypnotic state.  
> Robin van Persie, "Frostbite" - His ice-based abstraction gives him an acute sense of vapors in the air and is able to collect it and turn into ice for combat. A special quirk of his Frostbite which he calls "Permafrost" allows him to put someone into an illusion. It's duration can potentially reach a perpetual illusion.

**Author's Note:**

> Got a ship/character/interaction you'd like to be written? Ask away and maybe I can make it happen. This AU's roots run deep.


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